Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

Good Night, and I Love You

There was his brother's wedding photo on the large chest of drawers by the wall - and Fiona's eyes brushed at the smiling face of John Holyoake. Maybe, it could be different, Fiona thought in some sort of melancholy. Maybe, some people were just lucky. She truly had very little to go by, but if one looked at the Holyoake siblings, it would be more logical to assume that what Di had was a much more common pattern than Clem and John's film worthy romance. At least, Di had gotten two wonderful children out of her marriage. Fiona lay down again, turning her back to the photographs.

A strange thought came. She had her whole life ahead of her now - and it was hers. No one else's. In a few months - no more than eight by the estimation of the intense Mr. Svensson the Barrister - she'd be free, and single, and wealthy. She could do anything. She could go anywhere. She could paint - or not. She could buy a flat in a city - or a small cottage somewhere else. She could travel.

She rolled on her back again and opened her eyes.

What do you want to do with the rest of your life, Fiona?

I want to spend it with Will Holyoake.

She did. She wanted to have a small cottage so she could watch birds and snowflakes and clouds in the sky in Summer and raindrops running down the glass. She wanted to paint. She wanted to cook in a nice spacious kitchen, and to learn to bake. She definitely wanted to go to France and Italy and the Netherlands to see all those museums she had only read about before.

And she wanted to do it all with Will Holyoake.

Fiona rolled off the bed and rushed to the bedroom door. She jerked it open, stumbled out, tangling in her wide pyjama trousers, made a step down the stairs - and froze, staring at him.

He'd walked two steps up by then - and his face flew up to her.

"I will marry you when– if you ask me to," she rushed to say.

"I don't want you to marry me," he said at the same time.

"What?" she squeaked.

"If you don't want it," he added.

"Oh," Fiona said and took one more step down. "But I just thought that– Nevermind that. Were you going up?"

"I was coming to apologise," he grumbled and looked under his feet.

"To apologise," Fiona repeated. "For what?"

"For–" He swallowed. There was enough light coming from the lounge for her to see the irked expression on his face. "For brooding."

Fiona gave out a shaky laugh.

"Well, it's your funeral. I got the bed," she said quietly, and he threw her a grumpy look. "Should we go back up then?" she asked.

"Where were you going?" His tone was nonchalant.

"I was coming to tell you I would marry you if you asked me to," she said.

He hummed, as if agreeing. This conversation isn't going anywhere, is it?

"I think we need tea," she said firmly.

He gave her a long grave look, turned around, and started walking down. She followed.

In the kitchen he sat down in the chair heavily, and stretched out his leg. She saw a small grimace run his face. Remember how you thought it would be his own fault and you wouldn't feel sorry for him, Fiona? Yeah, like that's happening. She started the kettle and turned to face him.

She could make the first step. She could tell him she wanted to spend her whole life with him. And who cares that it's only been six days? She could tell him that she trusted him. And she couldn't know, and life was such an unpredictable thing - but against all odds she knew he'd make her very happy and would never hurt her on purpose. And they'd probably have rows, and she wouldn't listen, or he would misunderstand, or vice versus - but they would figure it out.